


Haven't We Had Enough?

by endgame-sterek (HannahGrace125), nogitsune_lichen



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Boys Kissing, Derek Hale Takes Care of Stiles Stilinski, Fanart, Getting Together, Heavy Angst, M/M, PTSD, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Stiles is having mental issues, THERE IS NOW COVER ART, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-08-13 20:43:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7985557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HannahGrace125/pseuds/endgame-sterek, https://archiveofourown.org/users/nogitsune_lichen/pseuds/nogitsune_lichen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Please, please...p-please wake up,” Stiles screamed into the hollows of his hands. </p><p>“You’re not dreaming, Stiles,” Derek stated calmly.</p><p>###</p><p>Or the one where Derek tells Stiles everything that had to do with the Nogitsune wasn't his fault (then they kiss bc that always helps).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Haven't We Had Enough?

**Author's Note:**

> BETA'D BY Julie (@stiles-and-the-sourwolf and/or @thetypewritergirl) and Bri (@Cobrilee)
> 
> Thank you both so much for doing that for Hannah and I, we love you both dearly! :)

 

Witches were in town and that had the entire pack holding a meeting at the loft to try and figure out what the next logical move was. Isaac, Scott, and Kira were jammed together on the couch with Malia lounging haphazardly on the chair nearby. Derek had been wandering back and forth in front of the coffee table, too hopped up on the nearness of the full moon to really sit and focus.

 

The odd man out happened to be Stiles, who had settled himself on the stairs by the door.

 

The hard rigid line of Stiles’ shoulders was painfully obvious, the hyper-vigilant expression he wore gave his anxiety away, yet the most concerning thing lay in his silence. His lips were pursed; the room lacked the usual sarcastic comments and breathless babbling. Amber eyes were dark with something between worry and fear only to be complemented by creased brows. The thing that put Derek off the most were the dark circles that remained stark on pale skin, as if it was a visible reminder of what kept Stiles up at night.

 

“...what do you think Derek?”

 

The call of his name pulled him out of the daze he’d settled in, his head whipping back to the coffee table.

 

“Huh?” he asked, trying to piece together the conversation he’d so obviously missed.

 

Malia gave him an irritated look. “About the hex bag plan Kira mentioned?”

 

Her words meant little to nothing to him, and definitely didn’t help him comprehend the question he was supposed to answer. When it became clear he lacked an answer, Scott sat back on the couch with an awkward arm around Kira; meanwhile, Isaac stood up with an exaggerated stretch before letting the book in his hands fall to the table.

 

The smack was loud and harsh in a way only a three hundred page book could produce. Stiles sprang to his feet and his heart hammered in his chest. Derek turned on his heel, gaze cast towards the sudden movement. The younger man’s hand was splayed across his chest as if to catch his breath even though he’d just been sitting seconds before.

 

Nobody moved. Nobody breathed. Yet everybody choked on the tension.

 

“Uh...I-uh, I have to go cook dinner for my dad. Yeah, so I’m just gonna…,” Stiles trailed off, voice gravelly from disuse.

 

While everyone expected Scott or even Malia to speak up, it was Isaac who did. The beta walked over to Stiles, obviously not taking into account how jumpy the other teen was at the moment. And before anyone could comprehend the movement, Isaac’s hand clapped Stiles’ shoulder, a noise almost as loud as the book drop from earlier--

 

Stiles spun around, fist connecting hard with Isaac’s jaw. Derek could clearly hear the bones within Stiles’ hand as they creaked upon impact. An angry red blotch on Isaac’s porcelain skin had already begun to disappear seconds after the punch.

 

Scott’s face went slack, eyes wide in shock which Kira mimicked. Isaac, though not in any physical pain, tenderly cradled his jaw, while Malia cheered the violence on. Derek remained stoic, not wanting to add to the dramatics.

 

“I’m….sorry,” Stiles muttered, trembling from the adrenaline pumping through his veins. Nobody uttered a word as he turned to hightail it out of the loft. Even with the sound of him descending the stairs two at a time, the silence left over was deafening. Though Stiles was absent, the potent smell of his negative emotions lingered.

 

Those left in the loft traded quick glances, unable to process what had just happened. Minutes passed while the teens cleaned up the mess of books and papers, and collected their belongings before leaving Derek alone.

 

His throat was dry but he felt no motivation to fix it. Instead he found himself seated on the couch, its cushions still warm from the others. The only thing he could focus on was the lie he’d caught Stiles in, the slight uptick in his heart replaying on loop. There was no dinner for his dad; the Sheriff probably wasn’t even home. The thought of Stiles alone tugged at Derek, an empty shell of a man in an equally empty house. Then again, who was he to scrutinize when he did the exact same thing; it’s easy to shut out the world and keep everyone at arm’s length. He did the same when his family died, when Laura died; he took the easy way out and let anger be his anchor.

 

***

 

His phone, which had long since lain abandoned on the coffee table, flashed with a text from Cora a few hours later. From above, the moon shone through the skylight, the loft illuminated in its glow. The synthetic light from his phone stung at his eyes but got his attention. Numbly he reached for his phone, and unlocked it with practised ease and opened his messages. His eyes caught on Stiles’ name, right below Cora’s.

 

Derek wasn’t a rash or abrupt person, not usually. He didn’t think twice, though, when he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. Foregoing the elevator, he bounded down the stairs. The air was crisp in his lungs when he made it outside, the industrial area that surrounded him dark and cold. He opted to leave the car in its parking spot as he took off in a sprint. He strayed from the busier intersections and kept distance from the streets that held most of the nightlife.

 

Other than a few passing cars it was a fairly quiet trip.

 

***

 

All the lights were off, the driveway long since deserted by John’s cruiser. It wasn’t hard to pick up on the irregular heartbeat and wheezes coming from the second story. None of the neighboring houses had much activity within them, and allowed him to round to the side of the house and get on the roof with ease. He kept his footfalls light as he followed the familiar path to Stiles’ window. He popped a claw and slipped it between the sill and the lock, lifting the unlocked pane with ease.

 

He ducked his head in, his body following suit in one graceful movement. The carpet below kept it quiet but that only amplified the exhausted sobbing within the room. Derek’s eyes burned red in the darkness. Stiles was hunched over on the floor, his back pressed against the frame of his bed with his head in his hands. His shoulders shook with every gasp for air while the pungent smell of tears wafted through the room.

 

Stiles lifted his head from his hands; puffy eyes looked around the room in a haze. There was something distant and lost about it, like he wasn’t fully there. Derek followed Stiles’ gaze from various posters that clung to the walls to the dirty clear board shoved into the corner. Finally Stiles locked onto his silhouette, his eyes went wide and his entire body tensed.

 

“Wake up,” Stiles muttered, his voice rose with each syllable until he was nearly yelling at himself, “wake up Stiles...it’s just a dream!”

 

Hesitantly, Derek stepped forward with a relaxed posture so he wouldn’t scare the already-terrified teen even more. In a swift soundless motion he situated himself beside Stiles, careful to avoid spooking him.

 

“Please, please...p-please wake up,” Stiles screamed into the hollows of his hands.

 

With a gentle touch he reached out, attempting to coax Stiles out of his curled in position. That only led to another slur of desperate pleas to wake up and flailing limbs. Derek wrapped his arms firmly around Stiles and pulled him into his lap, cradling him against his chest. Short rasping breaths were loud in Derek’s ear, brimming near painful.

 

“You’re not dreaming, Stiles,” Derek stated calmly as he placed Stiles’ hand over his own steady heart. Slender fingers white-knuckled the fabric of Derek’s shirt, effectively wrinkling the material. Derek held Stiles closer, muttering a string of soothing noises in hopes it would help quell the panic.

 

“I-I-”

 

“Feel the rise and fall of my chest. Follow my breathing, Stiles,” Derek interrupted when Stiles started to rile himself up again. “ _Stiles_! This isn’t a dream!” Stiles gave him an owlish look, tears freely streaming down his face. Derek untangled Stiles’ fist from his shirt and quickly pressed their hands together, palm to palm.

 

“One,” Derek prompted, linking their index fingers together.

 

“Two,” he continued, this time Stiles muttering along while their middle fingers linked.

 

Looking to Stiles with a nod, the teen counted three and linked their ring fingers. There was a long pause, and for a while it seemed like they’d never reach four. “I need you to focus and count with me,” Derek reassured. Stiles looked into Derek’s eyes with an uncertain expression. After a moment Stiles seemed to find what he had been searching for and gave a solemn nod.

 

“Four,” they said together as their pinkies linked.

 

The same went for the other hand until the count of ten signified their hands grasping each other. Stiles calmed considerably and his lungs seemed to finally get the air they’d been deprived of. The tenseness within him seemed to melt away with each second that passed until his back went lax and his head lolled downwards so his forehead was pressed against Derek’s chest. Before he had realized what he was doing, he let his own head rest on top of Stiles’, his nose buried in the soft tufts of chestnut hair.

 

The regret, guilt, and shame that tainted the air made it too thick to speak. So they sat speechlessly for what seemed to be hours before Stiles broke the silence with a barely audible, “Sorry.”

 

Derek freed one of his hands in favor of running it softly along Stiles’ back as he rushed to assure him that he had nothing to apologize for.

 

“I....do, I do have to apologize,” Stiles huffed, shivering slightly. “I-I-I’ve killed people in cold blood, okay? With my own hands. Every fucking time I look at them all I can remember is how it felt to have blood on them and how good it felt to inflict pain with them. I remember _liking_ it. There was this… power that I was drawn to, as the Nogitsune I felt _safe_ and _useful_ for once. I hated being possessed and hurting people but a part of me reveled in not being the human sidekick for once. Fuck, it’s not just that… I don’t miss being the chew toy either. Everyone using me for bait or telling me I can’t help, that I’m a liability. Now I’m a fucking mess. My dad is swamped with bills he can’t pay and worries around the clock for me. Scott talks to me like one wrong word and I’ll break. I don’t want to be weak anymore, Derek! I wasn’t strong enough to protect myself from Gerard and I’m not strong enough to help anyone else!”

 

Any comforting words that Derek wanted to use died in this throat. His mind drew blanks the longer he tried to come up with something to say. The blame game and the vulnerability game were ones Derek was familiar with, knew how deep they went, knew how badly Stiles believed he was in the wrong for _everything_.

 

“Stiles...you don’t have to feel so alone. The pack--.”

 

“Don’t you dare say ‘ _the pack is there for me_ ’ Derek! Where were they when Gerard kidnapped me? Trying to go after Jackson. Where were they when I was in a fucking car accident, when I had countless guns pointed to my head, when I-I--” Stiles argued, the redness returning to his face as he broke down into gut wrenching sobs. “I didn’t mean to hit Isaac. I just had to get out of there. He was going to try to stop me and I just… reacted? God, I _really_ didn’t mean to--.”

 

“Isaac healed a second after you hit him,” Derek reminded him. “Don’t beat yourself up over it.”

 

With the instinct to comfort and protect kicked in more so than before, his arms curled around Stiles and pulled him back into a tight embrace. Stiles bawled into his chest, and Derek didn’t mind the damp spot forming on his shirt. It honestly was the least of his worries at the moment. He buried his own face into the crown of Stiles’s head, peppering it with soft kisses.

 

“I haven’t been there,” he muttered when Stiles finally ran out of breath to sob. “But I’m here now… I’ll have your back.”

 

Stiles shivered against him, curling himself impossibly further into Derek. Shushing him again, Derek made sure he had a good hold on Stiles before moving them both to the bed instead of the floor. The teen stilled, his grip on Derek tightening for the sudden movements.

 

“You don’t want to sleep on the floor, do you?” Derek asked softly, depositing Stiles down to the rumpled sheets before swiftly slipping out of his shoes and jacket. He moved to shut and lock the window he’d used to get in before laying himself on the bed as well. Almost instantly Stiles burrowed deep into Derek’s side, hiding his face between the pillow and Derek’s neck.

 

His fingers ran through the hair at the nape of Stiles’ neck, the touch allowing Stiles to relax more than before. The silence was safe and offered them a place to just _be_ instead of work things out. Derek may not be the best with words but he knew keeping silent wasn’t the way to go.

 

“The pack may not have been there, but I promise from now on I will be. In any way you need me. I’ll be here for you,” Derek said, breaking the silence with words.

 

A muffled whine came from Stiles then, his lithe frame clinging closer to Derek. Shamelessly Derek found himself holding Stiles tighter too, allowing himself to enjoy the affection while he could. The room was filled with white noise save for the occasional late night car on the road. Derek focused on other things, like the feeling of the fuzzy blanket under him and the slight leaking of a pipe within the house. Most noticeable was the slowing of Stiles’ heartbeat and the signals of calm and… _Safe_.

 

It made him freeze for a second; the realization that he could provide comfort for another person hit him like a ton of bricks. Stiles trusted him enough, even in this state, to find comfort and relax into it. Derek growled low in his chest, hiding the stupid smile on his face by nuzzling back into Stiles’ hair.

 

“Me too, Sourwolf,” Stiles mumbled sleepily.

 

“Shut up and go to sleep,” Derek said, letting his own eyes slip shut.

 

***

 

“Ugh!”

 

“Getting frustrated isn’t going to help,” Derek said, giving Stiles a hand back on his feet.

 

The younger man dusted himself off and stood to full height, face pinched and sweaty from the two hours they’d spent training. It had been a spur-of-the-moment thing after an awkward wake up of flailing limbs and sputtered words-- which had all been Stiles’ reaction. Derek simply sat up with a yawn and asked if Stiles slept at all. After a few minutes of awkward words, the topic of weakness and training came up.

 

That’s how they ended up in the reserve, sparring.

 

“Yeah, well, you try being a human trying and failing to spar with a fully grown werewolf,” Stiles huffed, cracking the bones in his neck.

 

Derek shrugged. “This isn’t about winning and failing, this is about you learning how to defend yourself. You getting stronger rather than weaker, and we all start somewhere--.”

 

Without preamble Stiles lunged forward, throwing a few tactful punches before reverting back to his sloppy form. Derek ducked a few, but upon serious request didn’t hold back. They kept going for a while, a languid dance of bobbing and weaving through kicks and punches. That was, until Derek felt a foot hook around his ankle and suddenly there was no ground beneath him. He ended up landing flat on his back with the wind getting knocked out of him.

 

However, that was more due to the fact that Stiles managed to trip himself as well and land on top of him.

 

“Did I win?” Stiles asked.

 

Derek rolled his eyes, glancing up to find Stiles’ face hovering mere inches above his. To him it felt like the air crystallized between them as the world around slowed to a halt. His throat dried up and he found himself not minding this as much as he should. Stiles’ cheeks were flushed and blotchy, eyes wide and nervous, and it was the same nervousness that had him biting his lip.

 

Well _fuck_.

 

“I wouldn’t say win,” Derek jabbed before flipping them over so he was on top.

 

Stiles gasped, eyes narrowing as he was pinned down. “Hey, that’s not fair!”

 

“Make it fair then,” Derek blurted out, his own face heating up with the words. The silence that followed was deafening, as loud as a gunshot, and had Stiles always had this many beauty marks? There was a split second of hesitation-who moved first, he didn’t know-but suddenly the space between them was gone and their lips met in the middle.

 

Stiles tasted faintly of coffee and mouthwash from earlier that morning, and while it should have been disgusting, Derek found himself leaning in to chase the taste. Though he had him pinned pretty tightly, Stiles managed to weasel his hands out and weave them into Derek’s hair. Groaning at the pull, he leaned in closer, cupping Stiles’ jaw only to feel the barest hint of stubble against soft skin.

 

Their lips slid together seamlessly, granted they were both a bit-- overeager, and their teeth clashed together more than once. The imperfection of the kiss made it perfect.

 

“Der--” Stiles gasped, pulling back for breath.

 

Derek paused, lifting his head up and opening his eyes to meet those of the man under him. “Yeah?” he said after a moment, clearing his own throat in an attempt to distract himself from the butterflies currently fluttering within his stomach.

 

Once more the world spun and he was flat on his back again, a playful growl rising from his chest. Stiles pinned him once again and pressed a fleeting kiss to his lips before springing back to his feet.

 

Throwing a sly grin, Stiles answered, “Looks like we both win.”

 

“I guess we do,” Derek said, the butterflies in his stomach tripling as he stood. “Now-- You wanna try defensive moves?”

**Author's Note:**

> HOLY FUCK GUYS! ART BY: @benaya-trash because she is the sweetest bean


End file.
